Welcomed
by Kooro
Summary: He was an ex convict and he was an officer upholding the law. But they knew that if one went to the other’s house, he would welcome him in.
1. Chapter 1

**Yay! My first ****White Collar**** fanfic. I've been wanting to write one for a while now. Hope this one is enjoyed. **

**I know I haven't written anything new in a long time. I apologize. I'm working on some stuff now. **

**On to the reading. **

Welcomed

_Chapter 1:_

The peaceful, calm quiet of the night was blasted away by two musical notes.

_Ding-Dong_

Peter Burke groaned as his consciousness slammed into him. He rolled over in his bed, pulling the sheets over his head. His eyes stayed shut as he clung to the lingering remnants of a dream.

Slowly his consciousness started to ebb away as the comforting darkness of sleep crept steadily closer.

_Ding-dong. Ding-dong. _

Peter threw the blankets aside. He was wide awake now. He glared hatefully at the darkened ceiling above him as the door bell rang three times more.

He was tired. It was late. It was dark. It was cold outside of his bed and he could hear the distinctive tapping of rain on the roof. Who the hell was at his door at such a late hour in the rain and what the hell could they want?

His first thought was to ignore the late night intruder but – seeing as he was still awake instead of back in slumberland – that plan was no longer the best course of action.

The other option was to grab his gun from the bedside drawer, open the front door, and wave his gun in the intruder's face while yelling words along the lines of: "who the hell are you" and "what the hell are you doing on my property?".

Option two seemed like a much better way to handle the situation at the moment.

So, unwillingly, Peter stumbled out of bed. Groggy from the sudden awakening and blinded by the darkness, Peter bumped into the desk beside his bed. He let loose a low stream of curses as he pulled open the drawer and retrieved his gun. Already cold, he also went to the closet and pulled the first robe that he touched and threw it on, slipping the gun into the pocket.

Then he headed out of the room and towards the front door.

_Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock._

Finding no effect in ringing the doorbell, the intruder had reverted to pounding incessantly on the door.

The sound was only giving Peter a headache and worsening his already irritated mood.

He quickly turned on the living room lamp to offer some light to the black house, blinking rapidly as the brightness assaulted his tired eyes.

Then he stormed right up to the front door and threw it open.

"What?!" he yelled.

"Morning to you too, Peter," replied a calm, and familiar voice.

Peter felt his rage increase at the recognition.

"Neal!" he roared, glaring at the silhouette of Neal Caffery that stood on his doorstep.

The ex-con smiled weakly, his white teeth flashing softly from the light that trickled out of the house. His crystalline blue eyes seemed to glow; two sapphires gleaming out of a black statue.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" Peter demanded.

Neal seemed to falter as his outline fidgeted.

"I was actually hoping to see Elizabeth," he answered meekly.

"El's not here," Peter grunted. The cold was beginning to take it toll and the heat of Peter's anger started to melt away as he shivered. "She's visiting her mom for the weekend."

Neal's face – or the little of it that Peter could see in the dim light – fell.

"Oh," he said simply, clearly unhappy with the complication.

Peter sighed heavily. The only reason he didn't slam the door in Neal's face was that the ex-con came to him only when there was some sort of situation at hand. He would wait to hear what news Neal had… and then slam the door in his face. And go back to bed.

"You look very nice though," Neal said, his mood brightening suspiciously quick.

Peter looked down at his clothing, wondering what Neal was talking about. He knew Neal's words were a snide remark the moment he saw what he was actually wearing.

"The flowers are a nice touch," Neal snickered.

Due to his grogginess and the darkness of his room, Peter had accidentally grabbed Elizabeth's robe instead of his own. He was now wrapped in a light blue, fuzzy robe with a floral print of pink flowers.

Great. Just what he needed. An ex-con standing at his front door; poking fun at his wardrobe. And it was still cold. Freezing now that a soft breeze had picked up, making the rain slant and splash dangerously close to where Peter and Neal stood.

Peter didn't want to stand there any longer. He decided to get to the point.

"Neal, what do you want?" he asked with a submissive sigh.

"Well," Neal started hesitantly as his gaze shifted away from Peter's. "I was – you know – in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by and –"

"And what?" Peter interrupted. "Have a nice chat? Stay for a drink?" Peter could feel his anger returning as warmth seared up to redden his cheeks. "Damn it Neal. Do you even know what time it is?"

Neal shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. But listen –"

"Let me tell you," Peter cut in with a sarcastic edge sharpening his words. He lifted his wrist to look at his watch.

"Oh wait," he said with mock-surprise. "I can't see the time. I can barely see my watch. You want to know why?"

"Peter…"

"It's because it's too damn dark outside! You want to know why it's so dark?"

"Peter, please…"

"It's because it's so late that the moon has already come and gone!"

Peter glared at Neal vehemently and Neal's outline fidgeted again. The rain was the only sound that broke the uncomfortable silence between the police agent and the ex-con that worked under him.

"That's what the porch light is for," Neal offered softly.

"What?" Peter was caught off-guard by the sudden statement.

"The porch light," Neal explained tiredly – wait… why was he the tired one? Peter was the one that had been so rudely awakened. "It's a light you can turn on to see what's happening outside on the porch. Much better than a moon."

Peter grumbled an incoherent complaint but indignantly flipped the switch by the door that turned on the porch light.

The darkness of night was instantly blasted away as the light turned on, creating a bright halo around Peter and Neal that protected them from the darkness just outside its barrier.

But Peter had already forgotten about the time. In fact, he had forgotten about his watch altogether as his arm fell limply to his side. His eyes widened as his mouth opened slightly at the sight before him.

"Neal," he murmured softly, all anger completely washed away.

Neal was standing pitifully on his porch, his shoulders hitched up to ward off the cold. He was soaked from head to foot, his blue suit nearly black from the water that covered it in a cold, wet layer. His brown hair stuck to his forehead and neck as droplets of water trickled down his hair to drip down his cheeks.

What Peter had originally thought to be Neal fidgeting with discomfort was actually Neal shivering from the cold.

Neal was a sad sight: shivering on the porch, wet and cold. His blue eyes gazed pleadingly at Peter as he shoved his pale hands into his coat pockets.

Without a moment's hesitation, Peter tugged the robe off and stepped out into the cold. He threw the robe over Neal's shoulders and tucked it around the younger man to protect him from the cold.

Gently placing his hand on Neal's back, Peter guided the shivering man into his house, closing the door behind them.

"Jesus Neal," Peter said. "What the hell are you doing out?"

Neal pulled the robe tighter around him. "Oh, the usual," he replied snidely with a sniff.

"Don't say that," Peter chuckled. "I'll have to put you back in jail if that were true."

Neal tried to laugh but it turned into a cough, followed by a sneeze. Peter shook his head in amazement.

"You sure are an idiot."

Peter led Neal to the living room and eased the ex-con onto the couch. Neal sat with a heavy sigh, sinking into the cushions as he leaned back. Peter watched him worriedly.

"How you feeling?" he asked gently.

Neal tilted his head to meet Peter's gaze. His blue eyes were oddly dull and had lost the usual mischievous spark.

"Like I was standing in the rain all night," Neal answered with a sly smile. The light didn't reach his eyes.

Peter nodded as he straightened.

"Wait here," he ordered in a firm voice but doubted Neal would actually move anywhere anyway in his current condition.

Peter quickly trotted back to his room and grabbed a worn pair of long slacks and a faded shirt that he no longer wore from his closet. He grabbed a few towels from the bathroom and bounded back to the living room.

Neal was in the exact same spot, the robe still tight around him. Peter could see that the man was still shivering under the robe. Neal's head was tilted back to lean against the top of the couch, exposing his neck; the skin glistening in the soft light. His eyes were closed and his breathing was irregular and coming out in ragged gasps from between his lips.

He was so pale.

He looked so fragile huddled on the couch. All his usual spunk and defiance was gone. Peter was determined to know what had happened to the ex-con but knew he had to wait. Neal's personal health came first and right now he was freezing.

"Neal," Peter called gently.

Neal's eyes fluttered open as he lifted his head to face Peter. He offered the agent a sleepy smile.

Peter extended his load of clothes and towels to the younger man.

"Here," he said, indicating the pile. "Dry yourself and change into these clothes. They may not be your style but they're dry and better than what you're wearing now."

Neal seemed to be having trouble following what Peter was saying. His head bobbed as he tried to keep it up. His eyes were glossy and distant. He seemed ready to pass out.

"You can change in the bathroom," Peter continued. "I'll make you some coffee and then you are going to tell me what happened."

Peter fixed Neal with a hard stare; one that commanded that Neal follow his orders if he wanted to stay in the warm house.

Neal got the point.

The younger man struggled to rise to his feet. When he finally stood, he swayed for a moment. Peter reached out a hand to steady the ex-con and Neal offered him grateful smile.

Peter placed the pile of dry material into Neal's arms and pushed him off in the direction of the bathroom. Neal stumbled away, clutching the pile of clothes and towels.

When Peter heard the bathroom door close, he left for the kitchen.

---

**Poor Neal. It's just so easy to write about him as the lost little puppy. **

**Hope you like it so far. The explanation is coming up next.**

**Keep with me will ya? I'm a little rusty.**

**Until next time, **

**Hobey-ho **


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow… barely a day and this fic is already so popular. Thanks for the hits guys and all the reviews. **

**To show my gratitude, here are a few shout-outs:**

**Thanks to ****Ursula4x**** for assurance and for proving that people actually do read the bold intro at the top.**

**Thanks to ****kahuffstix**** and ****Auraya-of-the-White**** for noticing my Pendragon reference. I've made a habit of ending all my posts with "Hobey-Ho."**

**And thanks to ****RascalFlattsS**** and ****ImAGiver**** for appreciating my so-called Neal "whumpage" and "bromance." And now I have new words to describe such writing.**

**I also give thanks to all those you have commented not listed above – I do have limited space up here you know – and for all those that didn't comment but still read. **

**Now, on to the chapter! **

Welcomed

_Chapter 2:_

In the kitchen, Peter quickly took out the coffee machine and put in water and ground coffee beans. He started the appliance and the machine gurgled to life. A steady stream of brown liquid splashed into the coffee pot below.

Peter watched the coffee with a distant gaze as his mind drifted away.

Something was definitely wrong. Neal rarely came to his home and when he did, it was only to tell Peter some important news and to chat with Elizabeth.

Seeing as El was out of town and there was no real important case going on, Peter knew that something else had driven Neal to seek the agent out. But what?

Even when Neal was in a pickle, he usually chose not to include Peter or go to Peter for help. So what made this night so special?

And that led to another thing…

Peter actually had an ex-con in the same house as him; his own house.

Whenever Neal came over it was in the day when El was around and with some sort of news to deliver. That was fine. That was tolerable. But tonight, such a routine was absent.

It was raining in the night. El was gone and if there were any news, Neal would have said so already instead of shivering on Peter's porch like a lost puppy.

Yep, something was definitely wrong.

Did he really want to get involved? Could he trust the reformed convict in his house?

Before Peter could answer his own question or have further thoughts on whether or not having an ex-con in his house was a wise choice, the bathroom door opened.

Peter shook the lingering thoughts from his head and quickly poured two cups of steaming coffee.

He walked out carefully into the living room where Neal was already standing, holding his wet clothes bundled in the towels Peter had given him. He turned at the sound of Peter's approaching footsteps and offered the older man a grateful smile.

Peter took one look at Neal and choked back a laugh.

Neal looked ridiculous in the clothes Peter had given him. They were completely out of care and so… not Neal.

The slacks were a little too long and swallowed the ex-con's feet. The shirt was also big: the sleeves coming down to Neal's elbows. The outfit looked more like pajamas.

The colors were faded and the clothing was clearly old. It certainly didn't match.

Neal's grin turned sour as Peter stifled his laughter.

"Yeah, laugh it up," he grumbled.

"You look ridiculous," Peter chuckled with a shake of his head. "So unprofessional."

"You're the one who gave me these rags," Neal protested.

"And I've learned my lesson," Peter smiled. He handed Neal a cup of coffee. "Here. Drink up."

Neal eagerly accepted the drink as Peter took the bundle of soggy cloth out of his hands and tossed it beside the front door.

"Hey," Neal said indignantly. "There's a good suit in there."

"I'll take care of it tomorrow," Peter said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

He moved to the couch and sat, holding his cup of coffee between his hands to better warm them. He looked up at Neal expectantly and Neal obediently took his seat beside Peter.

They sat in silence for a while, sipping their coffee; staring off into the distance; each buried in their own thoughts.

"Thanks," Neal's voice sounded suddenly.

Startled, Peter straightened and looked at the man sitting beside him. His eyes immediately locked onto the two sparkling sapphires. There was no teasing grin on Neal's face. His gratitude was sincere.

Peter felt a smile pull at his lips. "No problem."

Neal turned away, looking as if a great burden had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders.

"So," Peter began nonchalantly.

Neal cringed.

"Mind if I ask what you're doing in the neighborhood so late?"

"Actually, I do."

"Too bad, it wasn't a question. Now spit it out."

Neal inhaled deeply and released a long sigh. He looked down at the coffee in his hands.

"I was kicked out of June's house," he said lowly.

"What?" Peter exclaimed. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," Neal said in defense. His head snapped up to stare at Peter, the truth burning in his eyes.

Peter raised his brow in expectance for an explanation. Neal looked back at his coffee, swirling the liquid in his cup distractingly.

"June and her granddaughter left for some family reunion and they decided to loan the house to a friend of theirs," Neal continued in a defeated tone. "Some young punk who thinks he owns the place as the slave holder or something. He's been driving the servants crazy.

"Well, as you can expect, he wasn't too keen on having me live in the same house as him. So, he waited for June and her granddaughter to leave. Then he kicked me out."

Neal sighed sadly. "He didn't even let me pack a suitcase or grab my wallet or anything. He threw me out onto the street with only the clothes on my back. And whatever I had in my pockets at the time."

"And when was this," Peter asked skeptically, wondering why Neal had come to him only now instead of earlier.

"Two days ago," Neal answered sullenly.

"What?!" Peter exclaimed, his eyes widening.

Neal shrugged. "I thought I could sneak back in or find someplace else to take me in. But that punk made sure security wouldn't let me in and no hotel would take me in with the amount of money I had on me.

"When I did try to sneak in and get some supplies, he called the police on me. I had to run."

Neal looked up from his coffee to stare deftly at the other side of the room.

"Why didn't you come to me?" Peter asked seriously, leaning in towards Neal with a lowered voice.

A wry smile spread across is lips. "And be sent back to jail? No way."

"Neal," Peter began in protest but swallowed his excuse.

Neal met his gaze. He knew that Peter knew what would happen.

With no house to hold Neal, he would have been placed back in the crappy hotel Peter had taken him to before. Neal would, of course, resist again and most likely run off. He would eventually get caught and thrown back in jail until June came back to offer her home to him once again.

But with the police already after him, it was unlikely that he'd be given the chance to find a hotel to live in. Once he was caught, they would take no chances. It would be a one-way ticket to Riker's for Neal.

"Yeah," Peter sighed as he leaned back. "I get it."

He gave Neal a sidelong glance. "But you still should have come to me. I'm responsible for you. I would have made sure that you would have someplace to live until June came back."

"Yeah," Neal laughed humorlessly, "my hero."

Peter frowned. "I mean it," he stated with complete seriousness. "It's part of my job to take care of you."

Neal finally lifted his gaze to meet Peter's and the sardonic expression was gone. His eyes shone almost hopefully.

"But you can't stay here," Peter added.

Neal's face fell as his shoulders slumped in despair.

"When does June get back?" Peter asked before Neal could protest.

"Monday," Neal answered apathetically.

Peter stood and plucked the cooled coffee out of Neal's limp hands.

"Well, today's Fri – I mean – Saturday. So you just need a place to stay for tonight and two more days."

Peter moved towards the kitchen with the empty cups. "I'll call Jones and have him pick you up. You can stay in an office or interrogation room or something until June comes back. I'll make sure he gives you something decent to eat. I doubt you've eaten well in the past two days."

He entered the kitchen and placed the cups in the sink. "So don't get comfortable," Peter called over his shoulder. "You'll be leaving soon. I'll bring you some fresh clothes in the morning when it's actually light out."

Peter moved towards the phone and picked up the device. He quickly dialed the number of the White Collar office he worked in. Jones had a late shift this week so he knew the officer would pick up.

"Hello?" a tired voice answered.

"Good morning, Agent Jones. This is Agent Burke."

"Peter," the voice asked quizzically. "What are you doing up so late. Do you know what time it is?"

"I know it's late. I'm sorry," Peter said as he moved around the kitchen casually. "But I have a favor to ask of you."

"Sure, boss. You name it."

"Well, it's about Neal," Peter sighed.

"Caffery? What about him?"

Peter bit his lip.

What was so hard about telling Jones that he needed to take Neal to the office to stay? Why did it matter to him? He didn't want Neal in his house.

And yet, it felt like he was betraying Neal for turning him in.

What if Jones just dropped Neal off in jail? It would save the agent time and a headache. Peter couldn't have that. He already told Neal that he wouldn't send him to prison. Just because Neal was an expert at lying didn't mean that Peter wanted to be too.

"Peter?" Jones asked.

Peter blinked and found that he was standing at the entrance to the living room.

"Sorry," Peter sighed. "Listen, Neal is –"

His sentence was cut short by the sight before him.

Neal was lying down on the cough, curled up in a tight ball to stay warm. His head rested against the armrest and his eyes were closed. He snored softly, already succumbed to the lull of sleep.

Peter stared at the sleeping form of the ex-con, a sense of peace and rightfulness coming over him.

He smiled.

"Agent Burke? Is something wrong?" Jones asked with slight concern.

"No, no," Peter answered as he turned away.

"What about Caffery?" Jones asked slowly as if unsure as to whether or not Peter could actually understand him.

"Oh," Peter started, lowering his voice so as to not wake Neal. "I was just calling to tell you that Neal won't be coming in tomorrow. He'll be taking a day off."

"I knew that, sir," Jones said, the confusion evident in his voice. Peter could almost see the agent's furrowed brow.

"If you remember, you have the weekend off and already told the office that you and Neal weren't coming in."

"Oh, good job then," Peter replied nonchalantly. "Keep up the good work. Good night."

He hung up quickly and turned back to look at Neal.

The young man was still sleeping soundly, the effects of his previous difficulties erased by the gentle peace of sleep.

Peter tapped the phone against his hand, shooting furtive glances around the room, as if making sure that no one could see him allowing an ex-con to sleep in his house.

He stepped quietly closer to gaze down at the sleeping form of Neal. He certainly looked better than he had earlier.

Right now, in this moment, Neal Caffery was just a man, not a reformed convict. He was a friend of El and a tolerable part of Peter's life.

Even as an ex-con, Neal had been allowed in Peter's house. El had no problem with it and rather encouraged it. Neal had always been respectful and decent while in Peter's house.

Peter knew that, even though he was a police officer and Neal was a convict he had arrested on two occasions, Neal was a welcomed part of his family. He knew that Neal would always have a place in his home, even if he didn't like it. Neal always was and always would be welcome in his home.

And Peter knew that he would always be welcomed in Neal's home.

The best of enemies made the closest of friends: partners.

Maybe it would be ok to have the ex-con sleep over for the night. He certainly wasn't going to do anything and it wasn't like he had anywhere else to go. Besides, Peter's couch was probably a hundred times better than an office chair.

Peter left the room for a moment to return with a thick blanket. He unfurled the blanket and draped it over Neal's body.

The younger man murmured in content as his body relaxed from the warmth. He nestled closer against the couch.

Peter smiled. He trailed his fingers across Neal's forehead, checking for a fever and brushing aside stray strands of damp hair.

Neal was a little warmer than usual but it wasn't like Peter could do anything about it while the younger man slept. He would wait for morning and check on Neal then. Hopefully the sly man could evade a cold like he evaded the law.

Peter walked over to the light he had turned on and stopped to gaze once more at Neal.

"You owe me big time," Peter whispered to the sleeping man. He chuckled lightly.

"Good night Neal."

And the light was turned off, plunging the room back into an endless black that swallowed the house and the two partners that slept in it.

---

**Isn't that sweet? I thought so. Next chapter tomorrow – if I have the time. **

**Until next time,  
Hobey-ho!**


	3. Chapter 3

**And here's chapter three. As usual, I offer my gratitude to readers and your comments. They make me smile. ^_^**

**On to the shout-outs:**

**A thank you to ****AbsoluteAnda**** for your comment and I want to apologize. No, Neal doesn't catch a cold. I was thinking about changing the story to make it so that Neal did get sick but then that would have changed the ending. And I like the ending. (Hope you do too). I'll probably make a "sick Neal fic" sooner or later though.**

**A thanks to ****fanfiction-freak**** for the compliment. And on your behalf… **

***Note*:DOES ANYONE KNOW JONES' FIRST NAME? IF YOU DO, CAN YOU PUT IT IN A REVIEW? PLEASE AND THANK YOU. **

**And a final thanks to ****Ursula4x**** and ****AnneWentworth**** for complimenting Peter's "caving" scene. Glad you enjoyed it.**

**Also, thanks for all the "sweet" comments. Knew you'd like it. **

**So, don't let me stall any further. Keep reading.**

Welcomed

_Chapter 3:_

Light streamed into the room and streaked across Peter's bed. Unfortunately, it also shone down on his face.

Peter groaned groggily and tried to wave the light away. Unsuccessful, he pulled the sheets over his head. But even here, the light seeped through.

With a sigh of defeat, Peter tossed the sheets aside and sat up. He stretched with a long yawn and stood.

He looked down at his watch.

"Seven o'clock," he said aloud in a disgruntled grumble. "Woke up right on time but have no where to go."

He stood and trudged to his closet. He took out his dark blue robe and pulled it on with another yawn.

He blinked away the moisture in his eyes and froze.

Two empty hangers rocked in the closet. They should have only been one hanger. El's robe should have been on the other. Where was her robe?

Realization struck him hard as the memories of the night's events assaulted his mind. He rubbed his temples.

Right. An ex-con was sleeping downstairs on his couch.

Not wanting to be caught in a robe again – yes, he remembered that Neal had seen him in his wife's robe. That memory would be forever implanted in his mind – Peter traded his robe for a fresh pair of clothes: a white undershirt and his black business pants.

He then made his way to the living room, passing the kitchen and the promise of food.

He stopped at the entrance and peered into the living room. When no movement registered to his eyes, he stalked closer on quiet feet. He approached the couch from behind and stopped.

He carefully peered down to see the blanket still spread out on the couch.

He let out a soft sigh and smiled.

"Morning Neal," he murmured.

"Morning Peter," a voice enthused from behind him.

Peter's heart caught in his throat as he spun around, instinctively reaching for a gun at his side that wasn't there.

"Damn it Neal," he gasped when he saw the ex-con saunter towards him, an apple in one hand and his other hand behind his back. Neal grinned at him with devious charm.

"Looking for this?" Neal asked as he pulled out his hand from behind his back.

Peter felt his blood turn cold at the sight of his gun glinting back at him.

Neal casually looked at the gun and then at Peter, the same deviant smile glued to his lips. His eyes sparkled mischievously.

"Found it in the robe you lent to me last night," he said as he tossed the gun to Peter. Peter caught the gun numbly and pocketed it quickly, his eyes still targeted on Neal.

"Bit of a weird thing to give me," he smiled. "Knew it must've been a mistake. You never give me nice things. And if you do decide to, don't give me a gun. Hate the things."

Peter shook his head with a chuckle as relief washed away his tension. It was stupid of him to think that Neal would actually use a gun against him. The joke had been on him.

"Feeling better I see," Peter stated as he walked past Neal to enter the kitchen.

"Yep," Neal said, biting into the apple with a loud crunch. "All I needed was a good night's sleep. Haven't had one of those in a while."

Peter's smile flickered but he kept it to keep a cool composure in front of Neal. "Glad I could help," he said with mock-sarcasm.

"Yes, you're a saint," Neal replied. His sarcasm was real.

Peter chuckled.

He fished around in the fridge for something to eat as Neal leaned against the counter to eat his apple; his expression thoughtful.

Finding nothing that matched El's cooking, Peter poured himself a bowl of cold cereal.

"So, what made you change your mind," Neal asked suddenly, examining his apple with a sudden intent interest.

Peter offered him a glance as he poured milk into his cereal. "About what?" he asked casually, taking his chance to tease Neal a bit.

"You know," Neal shrugged. "About turning me in."

Peter hadn't quite expected Neal to get straight to the point. Neal always danced around the issue, avoiding direct contact for as long as possible. Maybe he was too curious to wait for his charm to kick in.

"You were sleeping," Peter answered as he sat.

"Didn't think that would have stopped you," Neal noted.

"You had a rough couple of days and I could only assume that you had been walking around all night in the rain before coming here," Peter explained. "I guess I figured you could use a break. So I gave you one." Peter eyed Neal chidingly. "Don't expect it often."

Neal laughed. "I won't."

Peter nodded his acknowledgement and shoveled a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

It grew quiet.

"Thanks," Neal finally said, looking at Peter with a smile.

Peter looked up and returned the gesture.

"What can I say," Peter said. "You are part of the family."

"Really?" Neal asked, his eyes sparkling.

"To El anyway," Peter sniffed.

"And to you?" Neal asked cautiously.

Peter met Neal's gaze warmly. "An ex-convict."

Neal's smile flickered uncertainly, unsure if this was another joke or if Peter was being cruelly sincere.

"Who is," Peter continued dramatically. He smiled, "welcome in my house whenever he wants. Or, at least until Monday."

---

**I just love the relationship/bond between Peter and Neal. Who'd have thought that a police officer and his prisoner would become partners. **

**That's the main reason I watch the show. Well… that and Matt Bomer – actor who plays Neal Caffery in case you didn't know – is a pretty hot guy.**

**BUT WAIT!!! THERE'S ONE MORE CHAPTER!!!**

**Stay tuned,  
Hobey-Ho**


	4. Chapter 4

**A big thank you to ****AbsolutAnda****, **** Moss****, ****Airamu4u****, ****RascalFlattsS****, and ****Ursula4x**** for you comments and compliments. They were a great Thanksgiving gift. And I'm glad you concur with Mr. Bomer's hotness. **

**And a very special thanks to ****lelann37**** for adding me to your alert list. I'm glad you enjoy my writing.**

**Now, here is my gift to you: the final chapter of "Welcomed." (sorry it's short.) **

Welcomed

Chapter 4:

_A few days later…_

Neal was torn away from his book by an incessant knocking on his bedroom door.

"Coming," he called as he marked his page and stood.

The knocking continued, irritating Neal.

"I said I'm coming," he yelled. He marched up to the door and pulled it open.

"All right. What do you wa –"

He sentence was cut short by the sight before him.

"Hey, Caffery," Peter said hesitantly.

"Peter?" Neal asked with surprise. He stuck his head out of the room and looked around the hallway outside.

All he saw was Peter holding a cooler that no doubt contained a few beers and maybe a some of Peter's favorite snacks.

"Is something wrong? Did something happen?" Neal asked, his voice rising an octave below panic.

"What? Oh, no no. Everything's fine," Peter assured. "It's just… well."

Neal raised his brows expectantly.

Peter took a deep breath. "It's just that, El's flight has been postponed and she won't be back until tomorrow. And I was thinking, since I – or – we don't have work today that I could come over and watch the game or something."

Neal's expression brightened as the worry was washed from his features. He laughed openly.

"You should have said that in the first place," he scolded lightly. Peter shrugged helplessly.

"Come on in," Neal invited as he stepped aside. "I can't refuse family,"

Peter froze in surprise for a moment but then his face broke out in a grin as he stepped inside. Neal closed the door behind him.

"And if I recall," Neal's voice resounded from within, "I owe you a big one."

He was an ex convict and he was an officer upholding the law. But they knew that if one went to the other's house, he would welcome him in.

---

**Now that's the end. Hope it was warm and fuzzy enough for ya. ^_^**

****NOTE**:**** the part about owing Peter a big one is a reference to chapter 2 in which Peter said Neal owed him big time before he said good night. In case you forgot.**

**You know, writing this fic has opened a can of worms for me. Not bad worms, but now I really want to write more fanfics for ****White Collar****. I have a few ideas already but they have little substance. But keep a look out for more!**

**And Happy Thanksgiving to all.  
Hobey-Ho!**


End file.
